


Differently

by narsus



Series: Differently [1]
Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Aerospace Manufacturing, Alternate Universe, First Meetings, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-12
Updated: 2012-05-12
Packaged: 2017-11-05 05:24:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/402902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/narsus/pseuds/narsus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a timeline where neither Martin nor Douglas are pilots, their first meeting occurs somewhat differently, thought of course it still involves aviation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Differently

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Cabin Pressure belongs to John Finnemore and BBC Radio 4.

When they meet it isn’t under particularly auspicious circumstances. In fact, to Douglas’ mind there’s nowhere he’d rather be any less than sat in a dingy meeting room, clutching a flimsy plastic coffee cup and expecting the buzzing fluorescent strip light to gutter out at any moment. This is not, he grimly reflects, what he signed up for. He’s part of Procurement, based at their fancy head office site: he doesn’t do plant visits, and most certainly not ones so far away or in such grotty conditions. He doesn’t even know his way out of the building now, even if he could make some excuse and leave. It’s a horrible, fortified, maze of corridors and huge warehouses, full of dirty floors and walls, and a cacophony of trucks and forklifts, horns blaring constantly. There’s even one building that he passed, where the sound of metal clanging against metal, was so loud that he’s almost certain that he ought to have been wearing ear protectors.

This is why he isn’t part of site based operations. He doesn’t fit in here. He feels obvious and out of place, and the engineers and other operatives eyeball him with a range of curiosity and amusement. He’s not, thank God, wearing the high-vis vest that they gave him anymore. He took it off the minute he was left to himself in this, supposed, meeting room. Not that that’s helped matters any. He still looks overdressed in his suit and tie. His shoes are smart, his hands clean and his hair actually has product in it. Looking at the men and women he passed to get here, most of them look like they’ve been covered in dust and grease for years, and probably haven’t worn anything like smart clothing in their lives. And he doesn’t care how judgemental he’s feeling at this point. He’s a little frightened at the moment, truth to be told, because the reason for his being here must surely be arriving soon and Douglas is not looking forward to that meeting in the slightest.

They’ve never met in person but Douglas has had nasty voicemails a plenty from this particular plant’s Quality Manager. This is their flagship site, the plant that builds the most exclusive and sought after private jets. The rich and the famous come here to sign up for the public tours. They gamely troop around on guided tours, ill-fitting high-vis vests over their regular clothing, identification badges clipped to awkward places. They come here to shake hands with what has to be, in Douglas’ mind anyway, the angriest, most miserable man in the world. They probably even congratulate him on his wonderful planes. Perhaps a few of them even try to pry the information out of him that would let them finally acquire, the glory of the skies, his pet project, GERTI. A plane that’s cost too much to build, is bogged down with the sort of high tech equipment that no small plane would ever need and, so rumour has it, has been promised to the eccentric Arthur Shappey. A man whose philanthropic leanings will probably lead to him using it to transport otters from one animal sanctuary to the other. Apparently, so Douglas has heard, they’re close personal friends. He has no idea how that could have come about. He’s seen photographs of Arthur Shappey in the company magazine, usually posing near one of their fleet, accompanied by a sound bite on how aviation is ‘brilliant’, a word that the man seems terribly fond of. Shappey is tall, broad shouldered, prone to goofy smiles and generally seems to be a very upbeat, optimistic, young man. On the other hand, while all that Douglas knows for certain about Martin Crieff is that he’s a very angry man, he’s already pictured a short, threateningly muscular, bald man, who looks like he belongs in a cage fight rather than an engineering plant, as contrast.

Douglas is a tall man himself but he’s never felt more uncomfortably conspicuous in his life. He hunches his shoulders and clutches his cup with both hands. He’s not sure how he’ll cope if he gets one of those trademark Crieff tirades directly to his face. He suspects that he might be tempted to cry. Certainly, none of the other buyers had looked envious of his upcoming meeting. He’s used to the rest of the team congratulating him on successful deals or securing high level meetings. He’s famous for being able to sweet talk the most important engineering managers into attending face to face meetings to support Procurement objectives. He knows he flirts with most of them a little and that it pays off, generally. He’s non-threatening, a starry-eyed buyer who needs engineering drawings explained to him, who thinks that engineering is so very complicated and that the men engaged in it must be geniuses. The women, generally, have a tendency to see through that particular act but, for the most part, it works. Everyone is susceptible to the right amount of subtle flattery. Sometimes even the women fall for it. Certainly, his last girlfriend, Helena, had found his complete lack of understanding of electrical turbines to be an endearing foible, at first. Somehow, he’s not sure that any of it is going to hold water with Martin Crieff. In fact, Douglas is fairly certain that Crieff is just going to get in his face and shout at him about lead times. After which, Douglas will slink off, back to head office, and spend the rest of the week frantically calling in all favours so that Crieff gets his engineering changes in time for the build date, and Douglas never, ever, has to be anywhere near that horrible man again.

The strip light flickers overhead when the door finally opens. On instinct, Douglas puts his cup down, stands up, steps round the table and extends his hand, all before he takes in the person in front of him. The man before him is certainly not as tall as Douglas, but tall enough, slim, almost swallowed by the high-vis jacket he’s wearing, ginger, and wearing an amiable expression. He’s also wearing, at a quick count, at least three stainless steel rings on each hand, and black nail varnish. This obviously isn’t Crieff himself but one of his underlings. Douglas breathes a sigh of relief as they shake hands.

“Douglas Richardson.”  
“Martin Crieff.”  
“ _You’re_ Martin Crieff. Goodness, I thought you’d be-“  
“Taller?” A wiry smile.  
“Shorter actually. And buff.” Douglas wants to bite his tongue.  
Martin grins. “I’ve got tattoos if that helps.”  
“Really? I mean… ah…”  
“I can show you later.” A wink.

Their meeting goes surprisingly well from that starting point, and, while they get business wound up in about twenty minutes, an hour has passed when they both finally stand up and shake hands again. During the course of their conversation, Douglas has learnt that Martin wanted to be a pilot when he was younger but, due to financial constraints, instead took up an engineering apprenticeship, and that he does eventually want to take private flying lessons anyway. Douglas has, much to his own surprise, confessed that part of the reason he works in manufacturing is because of the sheer masculinity of the engineers. They’ve talked about their goals in life and where they expect to see themselves in ten years, about their favourite types of food and film, even about their families. In fact, the bulk of the conversation has been much like a first date rather than anything else.

“Maybe I’ll come back this way once we sell GERTI.”  
“Not a chance. She’s an MJN project and until such time as Carolyn wants her, she’s not going anywhere.”  
“Carolyn?”  
“Carolyn Knapp-Shappey. Arthur’s mum. She’s financing all this off the back of her cargo fleet operations. Arthur wants a plane of his own so he’s going to get the best.  
“You know him?” Douglas asks even though he already knows the answer.  
“Arthur and I go way back. He was a hopeless engineer. Not a bad shag though.” Another flirty wink.  
“He’s your- I’m sorry that wasn’t professional of me at all.”  
“He’s not my boyfriend, if that’s what you’re asking.”  
Douglas wrinkles his nose. “Fuck-buddy then.”  
“Oh Lord, I’m sorry. You’re right that was really unprofessional of me.”  
“I didn’t mean-“  
“Look, Douglas, I know you probably think this is stupid, and… and it probably is, but, well… would you like to go out for a drink some time? Arthur and I, we’re not… and I’ve just told you I’m gay anyway. I’m probably not even your type. You’ve probably got a boyfriend in Marketing- Oh God, now I know why your name was familiar- You’re dating Herc Shipwright! Oh God, I’m sorry- not that you’re dating him. Not like that- I mean-“

Martin reaches up to tug at his hair in what looks to be a painful fashion. Douglas doesn’t even know what possesses him but he reaches up and gently pulls Martin’s hands out of his hair and holds them still.

“Martin, calm down.”  
“Right. Sorry.”  
“I’d love to go for a drink with you.”  
“You- you would?”  
“Yes. And for what it’s worth I wouldn’t date Hercules Shipwright if you paid me.”  
“Really?”  
“Really. I told you, I like manly engineering types.”  
A nervous smile. “I suppose Marketing aren’t… well.”  
“If they tell me it’s ‘an exciting time for the business’ one more time I’m going to go up to their floor and break all their coffee machines.”  
“Those things are surprisingly difficult to get into. You’d need a- Sorry, I’m rambling.”  
“Are you telling me that I’d need engineering support to accomplish my nefarious plan?”  
“Maybe…. You’d need a quality engineer of course to…”  
“I’m sure I would. It’s a good thing I’ve got you then, isn’t it?”

They’re standing so close now that Douglas would merely have to bend down a little to brush his lips against Martin’s. It’s a tempting thought. They’re in a tiny, windowless, room at the back of a warehouse. There’s nobody to see them. It would be so simple, and, from the heavy lidded look that Martin is giving him, it seems that they’re both thinking the same thing. They’re both leaning in when the door crashes open.

“Martin! Have you done buggering that buyer? Those plates are ready.”

Douglas actually stumbles a little as he pulls away, but Martin’s hand at his elbow steadies him.

“They’d better be or I’ll scalp the lot of you.” Martin shoots back, not missing a beat.

The door closes with a bang.

“Sorry about that.” Martin’s voice is gentle again.  
“Is that _usual_ conversation around here?”  
“Pretty much.” A sheepish smile. “When the lads found out I was gay I got quizzed about what my ‘type’ was for a week and then inundated with offers to set me up with people.”  
“And they’ve discerned that you have a preference for Procurement, have they?”  
“Not really. Apparently I like ‘soft office boys’.”  
“Oh.”  
“Don’t worry, I’ll take you to a classy joint for that drink.” The teasing tone is back. “How are you fixed for Friday?”  
“I’m sure I could clear my calendar. In fact, there’s a very nice tapas place near the office that everyone’s been raving about.”  
“Early dinner to miss the crowds? I could pick you up from the office. I’m sure my pass still works there.”  
“I like the sound of that. And then you can tell me about those tattoos.”  
“Maybe I can do more than tell.”  
“I’ll look forward to that. But, right now, unfortunately, some practical concerns: how do I get out of this place?”  
“I’ll walk you out. Grab your high-vis.”  
“Martin, really?”  
“Yes, really. You have to be wearing it at all times on site.”

They take an even more confusing route out of the building and across the plant than Douglas remembers from the way in. Martin takes shortcuts down walkways and, on one occasion, across a production line. It’s a route that he obviously knows well. Douglas ducks past the line of hanging electrical components with trepidation and a worried look plastered across his face.

“You’re not really meant to cross the line but it’s alright, you’re with me.”  
“And I feel safer for it. Martin, where are we going? I don’t recall coming this way, though, admittedly, my sense of direction is utterly scrambled right now.”  
“Carpark. It’s easier if I drive you across site.”  
“You have a company car?”  
“Oh, no. My own but my pass’ll get us through the site.”

Martin’s car turns out to be a, very utilitarian, LandRover Defender, that actually looks like it’s been driven through a few rivers in its time. It’s certainly not the type of vehicle that Douglas is used to but he climbs in gamely enough, even if he does clutch his satchel to his chest, and look around at the other traffic askance. Especially when the other traffic consists of lorries and the occasional security vehicle. Eventually they reach the main carpark, where Douglas himself is parked, and he marvels at just how far he must have walked to get to their meeting. Douglas gets out of the car and finds himself standing awkwardly by the open door to say his goodbyes.

“Hang on, I don’t have your mobile number.”  
“It’s on my e-mail footer.”  
“Personal one?”  
“Ah, now you’re moving too fast. You only get that one if I decide to see you again after our first date.” Douglas teases.  
Martin’s smile is positively blinding. “You’re a real classy broad, ain’t you?” He says in a mock accent.  
“I like to think so.”

Douglas can’t help but feel that he’d like to drag out their goodbyes for as long as possible. There’s a wonderful ease in talking to Martin, flirting with him, and promising so much more than just flirting. Douglas is already imagining what those strong, rough, hands might feel like on his skin when Martin’s mobile rings.

“Sorry.”  
“Answer it, its fine.”  
“It’s the bloody paint shop having a moan again.”  
“Did we perhaps run out of paint for yet more gaudy logos on our vertical stabilisers?”  
“Something like that.”

For long moments they just stare at each other.

“Go engineer something.” Douglas prompts gently.

Martin shakes himself a little and sits back for a moment to quickly slip off his rings and tuck them away in an inside pocket.

“I’m not one to wear gaffer tape over my fingers just because I don’t want to take my jewellery off.” He explains.  
“You can explain the intricacies of that to me over dinner.”  
“Don’t tempt me. I have a lot to say about quality procedures.”  
“I would hope so. But I’ll see you on Friday, hopefully not to talk about how you’re not getting safety critical parts on time.”  
“Absolutely. I won’t talk about engineering issues and instead I’ll tell you that you have pretty eyes.”  
“I- I don’t know what to say. Thank you. That’s very flattering.”  
Martin shrugs. “It’s the truth. See you Friday. You can educate me about tapas.”  
“You don’t- alright. Yes, see you then.”

Douglas watches Martin drive off and wonders how on earth he’s going to explain to his friends and colleagues that he’s going on a date with the man who regularly harangues them about delivery times and the quality of product. He supposes that he’s just going to have to go to the office and remind them that he has a thing for people in traditionally masculine professions and that he’s never been one to turn down the advances of a suitably manly gentleman. In fact, when he thinks about it, it’s nearly always the old fashioned chivalry that gets him. The men who can be rough and brash with each other but become unfailingly polite in the presence of those outside their circle. These are the men who let him off the site bus first at head office because they’re wearing overalls and dirty jumpers that smell of sweat, the ones who always mind their Ps and Qs when they talk to him, who make polite conversation about the weather when he passes by.

Manners, Douglas decides, as he gets into his car, hold a great attraction for him. He can be as crude as the next man, in his own circle, but he respects the necessity of behaving with a certain sense of decorum in public. Something pretty much exemplified by Martin’s code-switching of lexicon just recently. He admires those who can perform that function just as well as him. He is a buyer after all. It’s his job to foster camaraderie and, thus, facilitate the trading of favours to his, and his company’s, advantage. He is always asking for favours or help, never giving orders or issuing demands. Of course Martin is on the flipside of the business, where he is paid to bark orders at his subordinates, and other parts of the business, and issue demands and threats to pull all others into line in regards to the quality standard. It’s why he leaves angry voicemails and demands that deadlines be met. It’s such a contrast to Douglas’ mode of action, but perhaps, that’s exactly why Douglas finds Martin attractive. A rough, brash, forceful man who is employed to exude all those traits. A man who was forward enough to ask him out but at the same time panicked when he believed that he’d been less than polite. It strikes Douglas as a very old fashioned way to be of course, which is, obviously, just the way Douglas likes them. He spends the best part of the hour long drive back to head office wondering if Martin will be so forward as to try to get him into bed on the first date or if, more likely, he’ll be careful and chivalrous until date three, at which point in time, Douglas will be the one to run out of patience, and will conclude that particular date by asking Martin to stay the night.


End file.
